And Time Slips By
by bendingwind
Summary: The girl who waited waits for a visit that will never come. Eleven, Amy, River.


**And Time Slips By**

_by bendingwind_

* * *

><p>At half past eight on a Monday night in October, Amy Pond shuts off her television and stretches her arms. It takes a moment for her to pull herself out of the worn old arm chair, but she manages to get to her feet without injury. She picks up the ebony cane from its position beside her and with a quiet grumble at her protesting bones, begins to make her way to the back door of her home.<p>

She shuffles down the hall, pausing for a moment to straighten a picture of her daughter and her best-friend-slash-son-in-law, beaming from a bizarre café on Carlitos Signifca. River's hair is wild and the Doctor seems to have accented his tuxedo with a garnish of celery, but really she couldn't have asked for a more normal photograph from the two of them. There's another picture beside it, of her and Rory, just as handsome with rather less and rather paler-colored hair. She'd teased him about how his nose was really getting out of control when they'd got the prints back.

The back door is a bit stiff with age, but it is as familiar to her as her own hands now, and it only takes her a moment to push it open. She makes her way to the old table there, and slowly lowers herself into one of the chairs to wait.

River has gone on another of her expeditions, and she promised to come tonight to tell her old mum all about the planet that was a library.

After a while, she grows cold. A glance at her watch, the one Rory gave her for their tenth anniversary, tells her that it's five past the hour. River is late, but no more than she might expect; time travel is a tricky business, and after the Doctor, Amy's not one to complain about a few minutes here and there.

Minutes flow by, and Amy begins to worry, but the soothing sounds of the city, hidden just behind her shrubbery, sooth her.

* * *

><p>When she wakes up, the Doctor is sitting across from her. He looks down at his lap, pale and drawn and still.<p>

"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting you," Amy says with a sleepy smile, "and you're certainly a sight for sore eyes, but I'd really rather see my daughter."

The Doctor looks up at her, then, and suddenly she is afraid. She has seen him heartbroken, seen him cry for his people and his loves and his losses; never, before, has she seen him so broken he cannot even cry.

"Doctor?" she asks, strain in her voice.

"Amelia Pond," he says, just barely above a whisper, "Like a name in a fairytale. Why did I ever whisk you away?"

"I certainly wasn't complaining," she replies, perhaps a bit sharply. "Doctor, what's happened? Where is my daughter?"

"I… she's gone to the Library, Amy." The way he meets her eyes as he says it, half lost and broken, half apologetic…

"Yeah, and she should be here any minute to tell me about it," she replies. There's insistence in her voice, denial even.

"The first time I met River," he says slowly, lowering his eyes again. His hands twist in his lap, not nervously, but violently, as if he would rip the skin from his fingers. "The first time I met her, I was in a different body. She'd called me, knew all about me, even had my sonic screwdriver, and I had absolutely no idea who she was. There were… things happened, things always happen, things are _always_ happening even when they shouldn't… she died, Amy. She's dead."

"No." The statement is flat, without room for contradiction.

"I'm… I'm so, _so_ sorry, I… she knocked me out and tied me up, of course she would, because one of us was going to have to die, and she wouldn't let it be me…"

He's cut his hand on his nails, and Amy watches with a detached sort of fascination as blood wells up in the cut.

"She's not coming this time, Amy." He says, finally. "She won't be coming again."

"She _has_ to be! You have a _time machine_, don't tell me you can't save her! You saved me once, you can do it for her! You're—you're her husband, you have to _do something!_"

"I checked, I checked everything, I tried for ages and ages… it's a fixed point, Amy. River Song has to die in the Library, on that day. I—I did what I could, gave her a proper Time Lord sendoff… she's still there, in a way, I mean, well, you can sort of upload people to the Library computer… I… I gave her what I could, Amy. All the books in the world, everything ever written and everything that ever will be."

Amy stares at him. It wasn't like this when Rory passed, last year—he'd been ill, she'd been prepared, they'd had a life together—but River was young, and meant to live forever, happily ever after in the TARDIS with her Doctor!

She tries to rise up from her chair rapidly, to glare down at him, but her hip hurts and it takes a moment before she is standing over the Doctor. He looks up again, meets her eyes; "Amy, please… please, I need you to just… I need you."

And, in a way, Amy understands.

"Can you take me there, to the Library? Could I talk to her? One last trip in the TARDIS, just you and me…"

Moments tick by, and she waits, her hand stiff around her ebony cane.

"One last trip," he finally mumbles, and he stands and takes her arm to help her to the TARDIS.

* * *

><p>"Hello, mum." The face shimmering in front of her is every bit as beautiful as her daughter ever was, hair neat and perfect and dressed in immaculate white.<p>

"Hey, River," she says, smiling and choking at the same time. She realizes that she's crying.

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise," River says, and even as a hologram there is so much _love_ in her eyes.

"I promised you, a long time ago, that if you couldn't get back to me I would always come for you," Amy replies, fiercely, "I will always find you."

From the computer, River smiles.

"Mum, you should have been there. The biggest Library in the universe, untouched for a hundred years…"


End file.
